


A Hellish Thing

by swevene



Category: Black Sails, Whyborne and Griffin - Jordan L. Hawk
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Horror, M/M, More specific warnings to come as things progress, Slow Burn, and they do unfortunately progress, both relationship and horror-wise, but it probably won't make sense without watching Black Sails, sorry about that, which I recommend anyway, you can read this without having read Whyborne & Griffin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swevene/pseuds/swevene
Summary: After losing everything in a terrible fire, John Silver brings James McGraw to the quiet, no-questions-asked town of Widdershins.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Griffin Flaherty/Percival Whyborne, past John Silver/Muldoon
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	A Hellish Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was an excuse to put two of my favourite characters in my favourite horrible murder town, as well as an excuse to explore the question of what James Flint would be willing to do for love in a really kind of self-indulgent way. If all goes according to plan, the future of this story will include sharp teeth, sharp wits, and at least one creepy museum heist. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy as much as I have!

His first impression of the town was the dark water that rose up against the pilings of the dock like it was trying to swallow the workings of humanity that dared to reach into its domain. They were off the deck as soon as the gangplank had lowered, handing bills to the dock workers to make sure their entry went unmarked. John had heard that Widdershins was a good place to disappear. From the flat, unquestioning gazes of the men who met the ship, it seemed that he’d heard correctly.

In the dark and the rain it looked like any other port town after they’d left the docks - houses crowded together this close to the industry of the waterfront. Farther into the land they’d probably be spacious, allowing the people there room to breathe. In this neighbourhood, even with the streets nearly empty thanks to the wet evening, it felt close. Like he couldn’t breathe.

That might have to do with his companion- James was close at his shoulder but not speaking, hat pulled low over his eyes, seemingly not interested in either their journey or their destination. He hadn’t heard him speak since-

-but he couldn’t blame him. And besides, John could take care of what was necessary. He’d done this before and he’d probably do it again.

A few more bills (at least he’d raided the safe before the fire) and they had a room for the night. It was cramped and chilly, but the water wasn’t coming through the roof. 

“Sit. Stay.” The commands earned him the slightest hint of a glance, the weak gaslight sparking life into eyes that hadn’t seemed to see anything since the night before. “I’m going to go get food.”

He hesitated at the door - he wasn’t sure it was safe to leave James alone. Visions of returning to an empty room, or worse, danced in the back of his head. But they needed food and he needed a chance to breathe. 

Without the presence at his shoulder he felt like he was a new man. Even the rain didn’t seem as oppressive. The droplets of water that crept past the collar of his coat were practically friendly, which was in great contrast to the people of Widdershins. They hurried past, the same as before, with faces closed and eyes that slid away from his face like they were afraid of being asked to identify him later.

It was perfect.

The dingy fish shop down the street smelled of hot oil and fried batter and it was appealing enough to pull him inside, despite the dirt that streaked the windows and the way the floor crunched slightly under his shoes. There was a line, which seemed like an additional endorsement- if people didn’t like it, they wouldn’t eat it. He hoped. He didn’t want to poison them on their first night in their new home.

Maybe people ate horrible food in Widdershins. It would certainly explain their expressions.

The tired woman behind the counter barely looked up as he stepped up to place his order. “Two servings, please. Is that fish fresh? It smells amazing.”

He couldn’t help himself, he wanted eye contact, and maybe even _conversation_. Being friendly wasn’t a crime, was it? It wouldn’t paste a target on his back. 

She did raise her head, large grey eyes eyeing him with what appeared to be suspicion. “...yes. Came in this morning.” Her voice was flat and clipped as she scrawled his order on a pad of paper and passed it to the woman behind her.

“Brilliant. I can’t wait to taste it.”

There was the sound of a chuckle behind him- the friendliest sound he’d heard in weeks, if not months- and he turned to see a man in fashionable garb, with shaggy red-brown hair and green eyes that made him think- but these were smiling, and warm, and looked more like the earth than the sea. “Mary isn’t much for conversation, unfortunately. I’ve been trying for months.”

“I find that it never hurts to try. Sometimes people are just waiting for a friendly word to blossom.” He stepped aside so his new friend could make his order in his turn- two servings of fish and potatoes, also to take away. John couldn’t imagine anyone eating in the place, the tables looked no cleaner than the floor, but he could probably count himself spoiled. He’d been living the high life, in a manner of speaking. He’d have to get used to squalor again.

“That’s very optimistic.” The friendly stranger’s smile broadened and he offered a hand. John took it, assessing automatically- his hands didn’t quite match his clothing. They weren’t the hands of a gentleman, though they weren’t a dock worker’s hands either. His skin wasn’t exactly soft- it was cared for and clean but the grip was strong and calloused. “Griffin Flaherty.”

John realized he should probably let go and he did. “John Silver.” His current name was safe enough. No one living in Ashbourne had known it, no one in Widdershins knew it now, and he’d worn it for so long that he knew changing it would come with all those awkward pauses and hitches when someone called him by the name he wasn’t expecting. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Flaherty.”

“You too, Mr. Silver. Enjoy your dinner- you’ve found one of the hidden gems of Widdershins. No one can fry up a fish like Mary’s man.”

His voice raised at the last sentence, earning a grunt of possible approval from Mary as she finished packing up John’s order. He took it and nodded to Flaherty. “Thank you. Have a good night.”

After the day he’d had, the climb up the narrow staircase to their third-floor room would have been daunting on two legs. With one leg it was gruelling, but he gritted his teeth against the dull ache of the metal prosthesis and refused to admit defeat.

John had hoped that James would have at least removed his coat by the time he returned but he was still in the rickety chair he’d left him in, coat still buttoned up to the neck. He sighed and turned the lamp up, dropping his burden onto the table. “All right, I’ve got something to eat.” He was rewarded by James’s gaze moving to the food and then away again. “It’s fish, James. Fish and potatoes. Nothing… objectionable.”

He tried to make his voice cheerful, but it just came out flat and tired. He couldn’t pretend anymore, not in here with James. At least until yesterday it had been the two of them trying to make things right and pretend they were normal when they couldn’t. James retreating inside himself left him alone out here, attempting to balance their world on his shoulders. “We need to eat. You can’t starve yourself to death, I won’t allow it.”

He undid the packages, letting the smell rise. It was still good- the walk hadn’t been long, the food was hot. James looked back at it and reached to flick the edge of the wax paper, eyebrows rising in a question. “No dishes?”

“Fingers were the first forks, McGraw.” John tried again to keep his voice light, to keep the heady rush of relief that James hadn’t completely stopped talking- that he hadn’t stopped being James, picking at him just to be a prick- to himself. He thought he did all right. “Dig in before it gets cold. This kind of thing doesn’t keep.”

He tried not to look at James’s hands as they ate, but failed almost immediately. The burns weren’t as bad as they could have been. The skin stretched shiny and pink along the back and he moved gingerly, like they hurt, but he could move them. He felt a momentary flutter of guilt that he had to eat with his hands, but wrapping his hand around fork and knife probably would have hurt just as much. This was better. Really.

When they were done, he folded up the wax paper and tossed it into the bin, then leaned back in his chair. “Right, then.” He counted on his fingers. “New city. A roof over our heads, food in our stomachs-”

“What are you talking for?” James’s voice was harsh, cutting through his enumeration like a cold wind through the walls of the room they were in.

“I’m counting our blessings. I think we need to appreciate them- well, actually, we need to appreciate _me_ , since I’m the one who’s made them all happen.” He stared at James until James met his gaze. His eyes were still cold and dead and John hated it. Maybe if he pissed him off he’d look like he was alive again.  
“...thank you.” James’s eyes dropped again. “You’ve been…”

“Invaluable, yes, I know, you’ve told me a thousand times.” Apparently James wasn’t rising to his bait today. There were a hundred more things he wanted to say, but he swallowed them. It wasn’t right to throw them at James right now when he could barely summon up a sentence to defend himself. “Why don’t you get that coat off and get some sleep? It’s been a long day.”

The only bed in the room was a narrow thing with a mattress that looked slightly more padded than a board. John had already made up his mind to yield it to James. A night in one of the hard chairs wouldn’t be pleasant, but he could manage it. He’d managed worse before.

In the end James went to bed still wearing his coat. He lay facing the wall and John sat facing the door and they both pretended to be resting.

In John’s dream, something soft and heavy slammed into the cellar door over and over again. The bar was starting to crack, he was going to break through-

His eyes flew open, but the sound didn’t stop. It was feet on the stairs, though, two or three men with heavy treads ascending past the third floor and up to the fourth. He took a deep breath and looked around. James was sitting up too, his eyes wide and pale in the dim light that filtered through the window. They’d made it to dawn, at least.

“They’re not here for us,” John said. It probably wasn’t necessary, since they could track the steps above them through the thin walls and floor. They’d stopped one floor up and down the hall and were hammering on a door now, their loud voices requesting that the occupant open the door. “They won’t pay us any mind. We’re not involved in whatever business they have.”

He was saying it for himself as much as for James. If the police did come to their door asking questions, he wanted it to sound natural when he said he had no idea what they were talking about, because he didn’t. 

The police didn’t come. James stayed on the bed, watching the ceiling, his eyes tracking the path of footsteps back and forth. John tried to decide what to do about breakfast. They’d eaten every scrap of last night’s fish - hunger was the best sauce - and they’d need more. They couldn’t cook much in the little room so he’d have to go find something again. They’d need more than one bed, he’d have to go find an apartment or some sort of lodgings that were better than this.

Goal in mind, he pushed himself up off the chair. The sharp stab of pain up his leg from his stump wasn’t unexpected, but it was severe enough that he was halfway to the floor before he realized it. He groped for the table and caught James’s arm instead. He looked up, surprised that James had even noticed his stumble, and met one of James’s concerned frowns. “I’m fine.”

“You fell over.” James reached over to grip his other arm and haul him upright and back onto the chair. The concern was fading quickly into anger, like usual- John had found that James hated to linger on the softer emotions. At least it was an emotion, not the blank stare of the previous day. “What the fuck was that?”

“It was nothing, I just need a moment.” The stabbing pain receded into a dull throb that he was going to have to accept as the reminder of how much he’d over-extended himself over the past two days. 

“Where were you going?” James stood up, straightening to look around the room.

“I was going _out_. We need breakfast, we need better lodgings- just give me a minute, please, I’m fine.” He had to be fine. His... lapse might have pulled James out of his fog, but he doubted that it would last for long. 

“I can take care of it. You have money?” James grabbed John’s coat and started going through his pockets without waiting for John’s response, which was fucking typical. Either he was staring off into space or he was doing whatever he wanted without waiting for John’s agreement.

“I can manage this, McGraw. I’ve _been_ managing it.” He couldn’t keep the bite out of his voice. He didn’t need James springing to his rescue like this, like he was some helpless invalid. He wanted James to be here again, not lost in his own head, but he didn’t want it to be because he thought John was too pathetic to take care of himself. “You’ve been staring off into space while _I_ made sure the police didn’t follow us, _I_ got us onto the ship, _I_ found somewhere for us to sleep-”

“So it sounds like it’s my turn to do something.” James found the roll of bills and held it up. “You raided the safe?”

“There’s a reason we’re not rotting in an Ashbourne jail cell right now and it’s that money.” John tried to shift his weight back onto his feet and had to grit his teeth against another stab of pain. Sleeping in that chair hadn’t been wise. “So don’t _judge_ -”

“I’m not. Just surprised you had time before the fire.”

“I did it a few weeks ago, when I started feeling like I’d have to run.” He sat back, watching James, hungry for a reaction now. “I could see the writing on the wall, McGraw. The only unexpected part was you.”

James flinched, pain flickering across his face lightning-fast. Then his jaw tightened and his face hardened and he shoved the hand holding the bills into his own coat pocket. “I’ll see you later. Get some rest.”

The door slammed behind him with more force than John felt was strictly necessary.

-

John was beginning to get tired of his hospital bed, and the hospital ward, and the hospital hallways that he could precariously haul himself down, crutches thumping against the wood.

Actually, if he was being honest with himself, he’d been tired for days now and had moved on to planning an escape through one of those big windows they left open for the fresh air. Now on top of that the ship had returned to port, which meant that a gaggle of his old shipmates had shown up in the ward, crowding around his bed to look at him with pity written all over their faces. It had taken an hour of false smiles and slightly less false reassurances that he was doing well before most of them had left, leaving just Muldoon sitting on the edge of his bed, his fingers maybe an inch away from John’s good knee. It would be closer, but the cancer patient in the next bed had a keen eye.

“You got any plans for what you’re doing after? I mean, after you get out of this pit?”

“Of course. Dozens of plans. You know me, I come up with a plan every time I turn around.” John pasted his smile on even more firmly. “I’ll land on my feet… my foot. I always do.”

Muldoon snorted at John’s very bad joke, because he was a reasonably kind soul. “Of course you will, mate. But if none of those plans pan out, you remember I told you about my old captain a few times? McGraw?”

“The crazy one who almost got you killed in that storm.” Muldoon had been in the Navy before he’d joined the merchant crew where they’d met. His tales about the shit that Captain McGraw had pulled always stuck in John’s mind as one reason he’d never joined the Navy himself.

“Right, right. I mean, he’s not crazy, he’s just- anyway, he left the Navy before I did and he’s, uh, working with this industrialist type up in Massachusetts. He wrote me a while ago asking did I know anyone who had given up sailing and who could be relied on for… _particular_ discretion.” His fingers bumped against John’s knee and his eyebrows attempted to relay exactly what he meant by that euphemism. John was pretty sure he could pick it up.

“And what exactly would he want with someone like that? Because I’m not exactly up to anything interesting with half a leg chopped off.” And even if he was, it wasn’t like anybody would want him. 

Muldoon shook his head. “No, not _that_. He needs help around the house. Doesn’t want a lot of people there, just someone he can trust to keep their mouth shut about what they see. I doubt it’d be heavy labour, you could manage it like-”

“Like this.” John motioned to the place on the bed where his leg just stopped. He looked away from Muldoon, not wanting to see the pity on his face. “Sure. Give me his direction, I’ll… see what I can do.”

John had gotten the impression from the parts where McGraw was a retired Naval captain requiring discretion that he’d live somewhere… smaller. The word cozy had come to mind, but that word was vastly inappropriate as he stood in front of Hamilton House, trying to figure out how to get inside the gate. The massive edifice loomed up behind brick walls, glaring out over Ashbourne like it was keeping an eye out for misdemeanours on the part of the town. He’d had a devil of a time getting up the hill from the train station and now, it seemed, he might be expected to climb one of the ancient trees that hung over the walls, since McGraw and his wealthy industrialist didn’t seem to understand the concept of unlocking their fucking gate.

He rattled the iron bars again, leaning against the post because he didn’t have the energy to stand up any longer. “Hello? Captain McGraw? Mr. Hamilton?” 

There was the sound of boots on stone. He straightened up to meet whoever was coming out to let him in and was greeted by- well, it had to be Captain McGraw, he recognized a seaman’s stride- coming down the walk that wrapped around the house. When the man saw him he glared, an expression made quite fierce by ginger hair and beard and a pair of the sharpest, greenest eyes he’d ever seen. “Piss off! We don’t want anything.”

“Uh.” John steadied himself and eyed the other man. “That wasn’t the impression I got from your letter, Captain McGraw. I can piss off if you’d like but that seems like it would be a shame since you so kindly forwarded me the money for train fare.” He looked over his shoulder like he was considering the walk back down to the town.

“...Mr. Silver.” McGraw pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket and slid the biggest one into the lock. He had to put some effort behind turning it, but the gate creaked open once he had. “Sorry about that. We’re not interested in travelling salesmen, architecture aficionados, or wandering socialites who want to pay calls. You, however, are quite welcome.”

When he smiled, his face shifted out of the severe lines it naturally fell into into something warmer and John gave him his best smile in response. “Thank you. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to go all the way back to Boston.”

“Come on in.” He didn’t take him up the front steps, which was fine- the door was as imposing as the rest of the place and John would bet it gave the most ominous of creaks as it opened- but around the side, back where he’d come from. The lawn and flowerbeds were neglected, though it was clear they’d been impressive before. The house was too grand and solid to look dilapidated, but as John could tell it was doing its best to do so.

McGraw led the way to a kitchen door with much more reasonable steps and let them both inside. It was warm in here- John hadn’t realized how cold he’d been until the warmth started to settle into his skin. He sat in the chair that McGraw pushed out, looking around at the room. Larger than a ship’s galley, that was for certain. The stove and ovens looked like they were built to entertain entire galas and there was an entire fleet of pots, pans, and crockery in the cupboards he could see. 

A throat-clearing cough pulled John’s attention back to the captain. “It’s all a bit cavernous, isn’t it?” He was watching John, that clear green gaze assessing him. John tried not to care if he came up to scratch or not, but couldn’t quite manage it. There was something about McGraw that he wanted to impress, maybe a leftover aura of command. “Thomas - Mr. Hamilton - says they used to entertain more often.”

“But not anymore?” John couldn’t swallow the question. He was curious, he’d always been curious, and he’d long ago accepted that he’d probably eventually die because he opened something he shouldn’t to see what was inside. “Why not?”

McGraw’s face closed down almost immediately, like the wrought-iron gate outside slamming behind them except that this time John hadn’t been invited in. “Mrs. Hamilton was a noted hostess, but she died a few years ago. He hasn’t had the heart since.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The depression of a widower would explain a lot about the place, though if Hamilton had been so devoted to his wife it seemed strange that he’d taken up with a man. But who was John to judge? He’d enjoyed both men and women in his days. “Is that when all the staff left too?”

“Pretty much. They drifted off gradually. I finally persuaded him that we need somebody, especially since we’re planning on some travel soon.” 

So he’d be the only one here. That would be interesting. A house this big had to have truly excessive amounts of both secrets and valuables. John didn’t think of himself as a criminal, but when an opportunity presented itself like this he couldn’t resist just a little bit of indulgent daydreaming. With McGraw staring at him he didn’t dare let it go too far, though. “Right. So, what will you be needing me to do?”

The list of duties seemed fairly routine, but it was the additions McGraw made that piqued John’s curiosity even more. Leave the library, the cellar, and the garden sheds alone, don’t unlock locked doors or bother with cleaning the third floor, and don’t bother Mr. Hamilton. James met his eyes, his expression serious. “When I wrote Muldoon I asked for discretion. Can you promise me that, Mr. Silver?”

“Of course.” John’s assurance was automatic, and mostly sincere. It wasn’t like he had anyone to tell about whatever Hamilton and McGraw got up to in their big empty house, and even if he did he didn’t see that he’d get any benefit. “What you… or the two of you… do is none of my business, Captain McGraw-”

“You can stop calling me that.” McGraw’s smile was tight. “I’m a civilian now.”

John knew plenty of former captains who kept the title, even insisting on it in the various dockside bars he’d frequented. Maybe McGraw’s discharge hadn’t been honourable. Maybe it brought up bad memories. He’d have to remember it, he’d been calling him Captain in his head for weeks now. “My apologies, Mr. McGraw. Like I was saying, anything you two do is your business. I’m not likely to be shocked.”

McGraw’s smile twisted into something else, a bitter expression with so many shades of emotion John couldn’t even begin to parse them in the brief moment it was there. “I hope you’re right. I’ll let you get settled in, then- you can have the cook’s room, down this hall. Enjoy.”

-

Lying in bed listening to the sounds of a boarding house on a work day was so boring that John fell asleep again out of self-defense. He was woken up by a knock on his door, light and quick. He scrambled for his leg, holding onto the furniture to cross the room- thankfully it was tiny- and opened it, peering out at the semi-familiar face. “Mr… Flaherty, isn’t it?”

“Mr. Silver, fancy seeing you here.” His acquaintance from the fish shop the night before smiled at him through the gap with what looked like genuine surprise, though John wasn’t sure he trusted it. He’d put that expression on himself too many times. “Can I come in for a moment?”

“Of course.” He pulled up his friendliest smile in response- easier now after a few hours of sleep in a bed, no matter how lumpy and thin the mattress. “I’m afraid I don’t have any coffee or tea to offer.” He sat to adjust the fit of his boot and waved at the other chair for Flaherty to take. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Flaherty sat with easy grace, his posture relaxed as he looked around, one hand twirling his silver-topped cane. “I just have a few questions- you probably noticed the police were here this morning.”

“In a place with walls this thin? Yes, I noticed.” John wished he’d chosen the chair that was closer to the door. “You’re with the police?”

“No, I’m a private investigator. I consult with them occasionally, but I’m here for another client. Do you know why they were here?”

John shook his head, trying to get a read on Flaherty. It was hard, the man seemed cheerfully businesslike, not personally interested in John or his doings. Certainly not interested in a way that suggested he was looking for John and McGraw. “No, I just heard them going up the stairs and thumping around up there for ages.”

“Apparently your landlady was concerned that a Mr. Meeks had overstayed his welcome- hadn’t paid his rent. She unlocked the door and found his body.”

“Not murdered, surely?” John frowned. It seemed like bad luck for someone to get murdered the night they arrived in Widdershins.

“It’s… hard to say. According to the police, it looked like an animal attack. He’d been mauled, bitten- are you all right?”

John was trying to swallow the acrid taste of bile and panic that was crawling up the back of his throat without trying to be obvious about it, but it seemed like he was failing at both of his goals. “Uh. Yes. Just- don’t like the idea of that much.” He leaned back from Flaherty, who was leaning forward with a worried crease between his brows. “An animal attack? On the fourth floor in a city building?”

“I know, it doesn’t sound possible, does it?” Flaherty shot a dark glance out the window. “But that’s Widdershins for you. Are you sure you’re all right?”

John had managed a couple of deep breaths, enough to get air back into his lungs and feel more like he wasn’t going to scream. “Yes. And this was last night? I didn’t hear anything, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“It was two nights ago. I’m just asking everyone in the building.”

“Two nights.” Relief flooded through John’s body like bubbles rushing up from the bottom of a champagne glass, leaving him just as dizzy. “No, I wasn’t here.” Whatever had happened here wasn’t- couldn’t be connected to them. He and McGraw had still been in Ashbourne or just leaving it. “We- I- just arrived last night. I don’t know anything.”

He knew Flaherty was looking at him strangely, questions in those green eyes. “You didn’t mention you were here with anyone else.”

John tried to keep the chagrin off his face. He’d been trying to keep James out of this, but hearing about the attack had thrown him too far off course to keep concealing it. “My travelling companion. Like I said, we arrived last night. You can ask the landlady, she wrote it down her ledger and everything.”

“All right.” Flaherty nodded, then smiled- one of the most charming smiles John had seen in recent days, since he hadn’t had much opportunity to look at himself in the mirror. It was that much more charming because it seemed to be genuine. He stood up from the chair. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Silver. Are you planning to stay in Widdershins, or are you just passing through?”

“We’re not sure yet.” Widdershins was a good town to disappear into, but staying… John had stayed in Ashbourne, and look where that had gotten him. Maybe he’d find another town where people didn’t wind up attacked by creatures in their homes. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“At the fish shop, if nothing else. Have a good day.” He left with another smile. 

John managed to wait until he heard Flaherty’s footsteps - considerably lighter than a policeman’s boots - move off down the hallway, knocking on a few doors before the murmur of voices said that he’d found another person to interrogate.

He hadn’t realized he could move so fast anymore - at least not without a direct threat to life and limb- but he was out on the street before he thought about it too hard. He turned the corner before he finished putting his coat on and forced himself to take a breath. He was out. He was safe. The thought of that mangled body on the fourth-floor danced behind his eyes. He knew what that looked like, he _knew_ what the landlady had walked in on.

He had to find James.


End file.
